


I am the storm (so wait)

by TolkienGirl



Category: On My Block (TV)
Genre: Angst, Coming of Age, F/M, Gen, Spoilers for all of Season 1, Teen Romance, These poor teens have to deal with everything, title from Of Monsters and Men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 08:32:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17845979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TolkienGirl/pseuds/TolkienGirl
Summary: Monse knows she's too young to see the future.





	I am the storm (so wait)

Ten years ago, Monse tried to ride a bike too early. She skinned her knees on the sidewalk, and a chip of glass ground itself into one shin.

She still has the scar.

 

 _I remember that day,_ Cesar tells her, fingertips skimming over the pale mark.

She scoffs under her breath. _You weren’t even there._

This will become a habit between them: Monse telling bits of stories so that her words trip over each other; Cesar assuring her that whatever she says is true. They stay up late on a rooftop one night, the week before she goes away. It’s the four of them because Jamal’s parents have date night and Ruby’s parents are at a funeral and Monse’s dad is out of town.

Of course, nobody keeps curfew for Cesar.

Ruby and Jamal have one too many arm-wrestling contests and then nod off, sprawled at right angles to each other, all limbs and shallow victories.

“We should go home,” Monse says, and then Cesar leans over and kisses her. Kisses her for real. His lips settle on hers like they’re made to fit there.

Monse doesn’t say anything until he lets her go.

“You’re a fool,” she says. “They could wake up.”

Cesar laughs, soft in the dark. It’s a laugh like a life-breath. “They’re both snoring, Monse.”

“One time I saw a nest of birds fly off,” she says. “Some kind of little songbird, in the gutter at our house. Wonder how they got there. They didn’t look like city birds.”

“I really like you,” Cesar whispers, and kisses her again.

 

Monse knows she’s too young to see the future.

 

They’re on the dance floor and Cesar’s hers again, after all of this, he’s hers. She runs her fingers up the back of his neck.

“I miss your hair.”

He sighs. “Me, too.”

 

Gunshots are so goddamn loud. So vile and violent and there, forever. You can count the bullets or the lives, it doesn’t make it any better.

 

Ruby. Ruby gets to live. Monse is so sure of that, sure as shit, sure as the way that Ruby talks with his hands and has a veritable thesis about why the prize at the bottom of every cereal box belongs to him.

 

 _We all got blood on our hands_ , Cesar told her once. They were twelve.

 

At camp, Monse slammed her finger in a cabin door. It hurt like a bitch.

No scar, though.

 

She’s too young to have sex and she’s too old to need a babysitter and she is both. She is old and young when Olivia and Ruby get blown apart, no matter if they get put back together again. Monse is old and young and empty.

Red lights, blue lights, blood and water. Pavement like a frying pan, glass on the sidewalk, hands smashed up in the door of life. Do you even know how many ways there are to bleed?

 _We should go home_.

 

Monse can’t see the future, and she hates it.


End file.
